Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ODE TO THE POPPY, by CYNTHIA TAGGART First Line: Though varied wreaths of myriad hues Last Line: Affliction lost its power. Subject(s): Poppies | ||||||||
THOUGH varied wreaths of myriad hues, As beams of mingling light, Sparkle replete with pearly dews, Waving their tinted leaves profuse, To captivate the sight; Though fragrance, sweet exhaling, blend With the soft balmy air, And gentle zephyrs, wafting wide Their spicy odours bear; While to the eye, Delightingly, Each floweret laughing blooms, And o'er the fields Prolific, yields Its increase of perfumes; Yet one alone o'er all the plain, With lingering eye, I view; Hasty, I pass the brightest bower, Heedless of each attractive flower, Its brilliance to pursue. No odours sweet proclaim the spot Where its soft leaves unfold; Nor mingled hues of beauty bright Charm and allure the captive sight, With forms and tints untold. One simple hue the plant portrays Of glowing radiance rare, Fresh as the roseate morn displays, And seeming sweet and fair. But closer prest, an odorous breath Repels the rover gay; And from her hand, with eager haste, 'T is careless thrown away; And thoughtless that in evil hour Disease may happiness devour, And her fair form, elastic now, To misery's wand may helpless bow Then Reason leads wan Sorrow forth To seek the lonely flower; And blest experience kindly proves Its mitigating power. Then, its bright hue the sight can trace, The brilliance of its bloom; Though misery veil the weeping eyes, Though sorrow choke the breath with sighs, And life deplore its doom. This magic flower In desperate hour A balsam mild shall yield, When the sad, sinking heart Feels every aid depart, And every gate of hope for ever seal'd. Then still its potent charm Each agony disarm, And its all-healing power shall respite give. The frantic sufferer, then, Convulsed and wild with pain, Shall own the sovereign remedy, and live. The dews of slumber, now, Rest on her aching brow, And o'er the languid lids balsamic fall; While fainting nature hears, With dissipated fears, The lowly accents of soft Somnus' call. Then will affection twine Around this kindly flower; And grateful memory keep How, in the arms of sleep, Affliction lost its power. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NINE BLACK POPPIES FOR CHAC by NORMAN DUBIE SAINTS' POPPIES by DAVID BAKER SEA POPPIES by HILDA DOOLITTLE POPPIES IN THE WHEAT by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON POPPIES IN JULY by SYLVIA PLATH POPPY: FANTASTIC EXTRAVAGANCE by FRANCIS THOMPSON |
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